Symmetry
by Metallic Mist
Summary: "They were the same people, really. More scotch tape holding broken parts together than flesh. It was almost the same heartache. And the same longing to be able to make dead people alive." In which Damian realises that maybe, they're all just as dented. DickDami. Slightly OOC.


Hello! I'm fairly new here, this being my first story and all, so forgive me if I'm not proper with certain things.

Disclaimer: I do not own DC Comics or any of the characters in this story.

* * *

The sky was humorously black. Rain pelted on the ground, unforgiving and unending, and thunder roared and cackled as the dark clouds engulfed the moon into its huge belly. Lightning seared the night for a second before everything plunged into darkness again.

Dick sighed, missing the cowl for once. It was easier to hide his tears behind the mask. But now he was naked, stripped of the mask that he forever seemed to hide behind.

After many months, Dick realized how easy it was to break down when he was bare like that. Not a vigilante, no Gotham, no cowl, no batman. Just Dick Grayson and his loneliness.

That night, drenched in rainwater, soaked in misery, Dick returned home, with hardly a streak of hope in is usually bright blue eyes.

Bruce was a man of routine and he had passed that down to Dick. And since there was no Bruce to pass anything down to his actual son, Dick had taken it upon himself, as his legal guardian, to teach Damian everything he'd learnt from Bruce.

That's why Damian was in the Cave every night, when the Batman returned home, just to make sure he was still alive. He cared about nothing else apart from Dick being alive.

He lied.

Because even when Dick came home, Damian stayed. Damian stayed and watched as he striped himself of the mantle and of all the responsibility that came with being Batman. Damian waited until he was just Grayson again, and even then, from afar, he inspected every inch if Dick, to make sure he was fine.

And on the most rare of occasions, when he'd had a particularly rough day, he'd run to Dick and hug him. Whenever Dick asked why, Damian would let go, look away, and grumble that he thought Dick was dead and then walked away, subtly nodding at Alfred to take care of his guardian.

But that night, it wasn't the Bat who came home. It was Dick. Still alive, and not a scratch on his body. He was alive, but Damian noticed with a jolt, that he really wasn't. For the first time since Bruce, Damian realized that Dick was just as broken as he was. Probably more. Damian thought of asking, perhaps even hugging him, but today it would be more for Dick than it was for Damian.

"Good evening."

Dick turned around, in the process of throwing his wet shirt away, and raised a brow.

"But you're probably not having a good evening are you?"

"Not particularly. How'd you tell?"

"I am Bruce Wayne's son," Damian said, and Dick noticed that he said Bruce and not Batman, "he wasn't called the greatest detective for nothing."

Damian watched as the corner of Dick's mouth quirked up slightly before falling into a monotonous line.

"And I'm your brother," he continued, watching as Dick's head whipped up in shock. He hadn't expected himself to say that either.

"I'm supposed to know you better than you know yourself."

Dick stayed silent. "Fair enough," he said, a moment later when Damian had thought he wouldn't reply.

Damian stared. Then he shook his head and got off the stool.

"I'm going to go to bed. There's been enough emotion for the night," he said with a small smile, although Dick couldn't see him. "Good night."

"Good night," Dick said softly, and Damian knew there was something wrong with the way he spoke. Somewhere, he knew what it was, but Damian walked off, not willing to pry.

Damian was attached to Dick in the strangest way, he knew why, but he was too stubborn to dwell on it more than he absolutely had to.

He didn't like Tim, because Tim hurt Dick. He hated Jason, because Jason hated Dick (or so he thought) and he wasn't fond of almost all of Dick's girlfriends. He was protective of Dick's affection. Perhaps he was protective of Dick. He didn't know which one. But he knew that he was strangely jealous of all the people Dick liked.

They were the same people, really. More scotch tape holding broken parts together than flesh. It was almost the same heartache. And the same longing to be able to make dead people alive.

Damian hadn't been loved his whole life, and when he finally got that from Dick, he didn't want to compete with other people. But he did anyway.

* * *

They visited the graveyard every month, on the morning before Christmas.

To them, the holiday season was anything but jolly. Everyone that Dick loved was buried in the same cemetery, at little distances from each other.

His parents were buried under a large banyan tree, up on a little hill, where the sun shone the first in the morning, under yellowing gray marble.

Bruce was buried a few feet away from the foot of the hill, in a small, isolated grove. His tombstone was fairly new, and polished. Next to him, was a newer grave, the newest that mattered to Dick. She was buried right next to Bruce, surrounded by a patch of lilies, like it was protecting her. Something that Dick hadn't been able to do.

It wasn't just her. Somewhere he felt like all of the deaths were a burden on his shoulders, like they were somehow his fault. He knew thinking that way would lead to noting good, but he couldn't push the thought away, no matter how hard he tried.

Dick sank to his knees in front of her, Damian standing a little behind, and for the first time since Bruce died, he allowed himself to cry in front of Damian.

The wounds from Bruce's death had long since formed scabs, although Dick doubted they would ever fully heal. She was what hurt the most right now, because it ripped his heart open, wounds still bleeding, unbearable and unending, unable to heal.

"I'd do anything to bring them back," he said softly, voice cracking, heart breaking and Damian could swear he'd never seen Dick so broken.

"I would do anything to go back and save her."

"She'd be very cross with you," Damian whispered, "she'd say 'I don't need to be saved,'"

"I'm perfectly capable of saving myself," Dick finished with a small laugh. He fell silent again.

"She can't come back, Dick, because she's not dead."

"How would you know."

"They never found a body," Damian tried, although he kind of knew that it was no use.

"I don't need a body to know."

And in an instant Damian's arms were wrapped around Dick's neck, trying to console the little bit of sanity that was left in him.

"You loved her," Damian said slowly as if it just hit him, but really, he'd always known.

Dick craned his neck to look at him and his eyes were red.

"Well I love you too, and I'm still here and I'm not going anywhere," Damian said, swallowing slowly, afraid of what Dick would say. He just pulled him closer and cried.

It was here that Damian realized that he couldn't compete with dead people.

* * *

I've heard that people get torn apart in Comic fandoms. I hope I'm good by the end of this. I know it's very cheesy, but I wrote this months ago, when I was in one of those moods. You know?

I'll always appreciate constructive criticism!

Cheers!


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